


Fortification

by Jyou_no_Sonoko



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Gen, I mean it's not my fault it's the most cinematic part of the house, I wrote this one so many months ago, Multi, Oh look another fic set entirely in front of the hearth, Yeah that tracks, allusions to Mary's Adam days, but now AfM Marith has the sort of vibe where I feel a reader can look at the timeline and go, domestic melancholy, marith, melancholia, with its extensive furniture options
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27578374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jyou_no_Sonoko/pseuds/Jyou_no_Sonoko
Summary: Set after the completion of"Answers for Mary", Mary finds herself stricken by melancholy with the encroaching winter, uncertain as to why; Lilith has her suspicions and teases a reluctant memory of domesticity out of Mary's subconscious, from a context no longer possible.
Relationships: Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith/Original Mary Wardwell
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	Fortification

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EddieWards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EddieWards/gifts).



While she had begun the afternoon reading on the couch, the back of her head thoroughly nestled into the cushion, at some point Mary's mind had wandered, and as the room darkened, she stopped trying to focus, and laid the novel on her chest. Out of nowhere, in the midst of simple introspection, the shadows had crept in.

“You're very quiet,” said the voice from behind her.

“I'm reading,” Mary lied unconvincingly.

“In the dark?”

“It's not that dark.”

And then Mary startled, when without warning the hearth leapt up in flames, and had to clutch a few times at her book to prevent it flying off somewhere.

“I've asked you not to do that!” she scolded, more out of her own anxiety than genuine annoyance; usually she found it charming when Lilith would light the fire unprovoked, sweet even. So why had she disliked it this time?

The First Witch was visible finally, leaning over the back of the couch, her dark tresses spilling loose over much of her face as she regarded the curled up Mary.

“Well you're alert now, I see.” Though holding its habitual coolness, Mary could always pick up the traces of affection in Lilith's voice, be they awkward or teasing or unabashedly honest. This time seemed like teasing.

“I suppose I am. Was there something you wanted?” She caught how sharply her words had come out, but it was too late to do anything about that.

“Always,” said Lilith, sashaying her way around the couch to recline elegantly on the rug before the fire.

“Anything in particular?” Mary still didn't know why she was being short, why she was _feeling_ so short, and that made it hard to control.

Lilith gave a flick of a smile, then rolled onto her back so that her hair pooled around her like dark moss, lifted an arm in conversation. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

“Oh, nothing really,” and she knew she was hiding something, even from herself.

“Try again, Mary. I could hear the nest of hornets in there all the way from the bedroom.”

Mary frowned, a little unappreciative of Lilith's mystical empathy. “I don't know. I'm sorry, I really don't, I'm not trying to be difficult.”

Lilith lowered her arm again, rested her hand loosely across her forehead, palm up; it always fascinated Mary to watch how much Lilith enjoyed her body – _their_ body – how much languid pleasure she seemed to get from the simplest movements.

“Perhaps I might hazard a guess?” then she continued without waiting for confirmation. “Winter is approaching, night falls earlier every day. And so your thoughts turn to summer. And all that it brings.” She tilted eyes which danced with firelight towards Mary. “Usually.”

That didn't seem wrong. Maybe that's what had happened, it was far too vague to be certain. When she said nothing, Lilith continued:

“What do you normally do, in the Winter? How do you gird your soul against the cold?”

“I... well, I usually sit by the fireplace.”

Lilith raised sceptical brows. “You always sit by the fireplace, Mary.”

“Well what do _you_ do, Lilith? If my answer is too dull.” Again that tone, she didn't like it at all.

“Me?” Lilith breathed, and her smile was a little less than real as she looked back at the ceiling. “I get cold.”

“Don't say that.”

“Then don't ask me.”

Mary knew Lilith had plenty of her own melancholia to deal with, so she would need to make a bit more of an effort to get to the root of her own problem, before she wore through the First Witch's patience.

“Um... to be honest, I think some part of me _was_ reminiscing. I think maybe it's like you said. I was trying to remember... how to stay warm.”

“Are you cold right now?”

She didn't answer, trying to make sense of the question, and Lilith rolled her head to connect their eyes, trying to fetch the truth that way instead.

“M...Maybe,” she admitted at length. “I don't know.”

“'Maybe' is as good as yes from you.”

“Perhaps.”

“Even more so.”

Her annoyance at Lilith's wit came out in a smile somehow, because dealing with that annoyance usually reminded Mary of how grateful she was to have Lilith in her life. All considered, all pain considered, every bit of suffering considered, she was truly and deeply grateful. Which was why there was no sharpness left in her gruff reply.

“Well. Let's say you're right, Lilith... if I am cold, what about it? We all have to deal with the cold, I'm not special.”

“Aren't you?”

“I don't think so, no.”

Lilith pulled her lower lip under her teeth thoughtfully, then turned to face the hearth. “I think so.”

Mary laughed, finding absurdity in the statement, that Lilith should say it at all.

For some time, Lilith gave no reaction, from neither form nor voice, and Mary worried that she had caused offence, a situation she wasn't sure she could stomach right now. Then she felt movement beside her, from where she had recently been lying down, from the couch cushion in particular, in fact. The feeling nuzzled at her, but she was far too slow to react, before the cushion righted itself, then propelled itself solidly into her shoulder, knocking her sideways.

“Lilith!”

But the assault wasn't finished, as another cushion joined the game, both battering at Mary until she was forced to retreat off the couch and onto the rug, on her hands at knees, finally toppling over Lilith's prone body.

“Lilith, call them off, you win!”

A couch cushion froze where it loomed above her head, then slowly drifted to Lilith's side, and the witch slipped it under her head. And then the other had arrived too, landing itself for Mary's convenience, and so she rested her forearms upon it, lay on her belly, and stared into the fire.

Both pretended that nothing untoward had just happened, and in a sense, indeed nothing had.

Eventually, her pale eyes watering from the heat and glow, Mary rested her head on the cushion, found herself again staring into the past, but this time with greater clarity.

“What are you looking at?” asked Lilith, ever quick to notice the sound of her mind changing gears.

“Oh. Just... something silly.” So saying, a thin smile came to her lips.

“Tell me.” It wasn't a request.

“It really is silly, though.”

Lilith refreshed her lungs. “Well, from you that is rather a given, but... indulge me anyway.”

The teasing made Mary's face tickle, much as the heat from the fire, so she relented.

“When Winter set in, and the storms came, sometimes I... that is, _we_... we would build a structure out of the furniture, a warm little den padded with cushions and a duvet over the top.”

She avoided saying his name, even now, because she could never know how either of their hearts would react to the naked sound of it. There were only two ' _he_ 's that were spoken of, and context always made it very clear which it was.

“And what did you do with this structure?”

“We just... sat there. We lay together, and talked. Or read. Or listened to the radio. Or the sounds of the storm.”

The last notes of Mary's nostalgia hung in the air, like weightless embers, and nothing took their place for some time.

Until the velvety tones of Lilith's ancient throat rolled in, a rich royal blue.

“I understand the desire. For small spaces, that is. To be wrapped up from all sides and monitor the world passing by.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

“It's instinctive. For women like us.”

“ _Us_?” Mary darted her eyes furtively over at the reclining profile, not wanting to be caught looking.

“Yes,” Lilith breathed, and gestured her fingers lightly, so that the flames chuckled and danced. “Soul vagabonds. Nomads.”

Mary frowned, picturing Lilith barefoot in the Wastes, building lean-tos, taking shelter in abandoned burrows, then raised her eyes to the thick oak sleepers above them.

“Isn't this a home, though?”

Something like a laugh snuck out of Lilith's throat. “I suppose it is.”

“Then we can't be nomads. Can we?”

“I suppose it depends how long you intend to stay here.”

“In this house?”

“This house. This town. This material world.”

“I'm in no hurry to lose my body, if it's all the same to you, Lilith.”

Another little sniff of humour and Lilith lifted a foot to pat against Mary's back, the only acknowledgement she would give to the mention of their fatal first meeting.

"And, anyway,” Mary continued, resettling her face upon a cooler piece of cushion, “it's not like I could leave now, even if I wanted to.”

“Oh no?”

“There'd be no need. Everything I care about is here.”

“Ah. Your work. The children.”

“Yes,” Mary played along. “Baxter High. Dr Cerberus's. The library.”

“Your herb garden.”

“My car.”

“Your rusty mailbox.”

“The rock rabbit by the window.”

“Your precious bees.”

“My grandmother's armoire.”

“The...” Lilith paused, apparently growing sleepy. Which Mary knew could only be a ruse, because Lilith did not grow sleepy, only lazy or more comfortable.

“Yes,” Mary agreed, to the incomplete thought. “That too. Maybe a few other things as well.”

She pushed herself up onto her arms, pawed a few paces, then rolled down between Lilith and the fire, her back to the First Witch. And, as she had hoped she would, Lilith placed a hand upon her shoulder, let her arm rest slack against Mary's upper back.

“Are you still cold?” Lilith asked.

“A little,” Mary admitted. “But it's getting better.”


End file.
